


Black and White

by Kinematic



Category: South Park
Genre: Kind of fluffy, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Mild Language, Some Humor, Teenage AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinematic/pseuds/Kinematic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The more things changed in South Park, the more they stayed the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and White

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any errors. This is unbeta'd. Hope you like it.

 “I need a cigarette.”

Clyde turned to his right with a self-satisfied smirk. Craig had begun fishing around in the pockets of his hoodie. No luck.

“You're not fuckin' smoking in here,” Clyde grumbled, lethargic in a post-coital haze. After all, this was a brand new Saab with a custom interior. But because Clyde was a hit with the ladies—and no one could resist a fuck in this car—he always kept a blanket in the back seat to protect the leather on nights like this. Cigarette smoke, on the other hand, had no such protection.

Still naked from the waist down, Craig leaned over the passenger seat and grabbed his boxers which landed there in the fray. “If I don't find my cigarettes I'm not smoking anywhere.”

“You say that like its a bad thing,” Clyde smiled dreamily, leaning back comfortably against the headrest. Normally, he wouldn't have said anything with the specific intent of pissing off Craig, especially since they had just rekindled their friendship only a few short weeks ago. However, he had just been balls deep _inside_ of Craig in the back seat of _his_ car and was still fully clothed save for an unzipped fly, so for once, the power differential was weighted to his advantage. He could afford to tease Craig without any loss of favor. Sure, Craig would feign irritation, but Clyde just saw him red-faced and drooling. Craig couldn't say shit.

“Fuck you.”

Once Craig had his boxers on, he climbed onto the central console to untangle his jeans from the steering wheel.

“If you fucking hid them—”

Clyde bent down to grab the carton from under the front seat. “Here.” One leg on, one leg off, Craig was more concerned with snatching the box then putting on his pants. Once the cigarettes were safely inside his jacket pocket he pulled his jeans on the rest of the way, an unyielding glower directed squarely at Clyde.

“I didn't hide them,” Clyde said, turning toward the foggy window. “They fell out of your pocket when I fucking slam-banged you in the back seat of my car.” He had begun tracing a crude picture on the window with his finger: two stick figures fucking doggy style. “This is you,” Clyde explained, pointing to the person on the bottom. “You can see the pissy scowl and girly butt. And this is me with the monster cock.”

“Fuck you,” Craig shoved him hard, then retrieved his shoes—one from the dashboard and the other somehow toe-first into the cup holder. “And 'slam-banged?' What are you, in middle school?”

“Ah, but you agree with the girly butt and monster cock. At least you won't need a ruler to have a foot-long reference for your architecture class.”

Craig pulled the latch on the car door, then pushed it open with his foot. “You're a piece of shit.”

Clyde chuckled and followed Craig out of the car, pulling the blanket with him. His letter jacket was decently warm, but Craig's hoodie looked pretty thin in comparison and there was still snow on the ground at this point in spring. After Craig plopped down on the hood of the Saab, Clyde wrapped the blanket around his friend's shoulders before sitting next to him.

“There better not be jizz on this thing,” Craig mumbled around the cigarette he just lit. Yet despite his clipped tone, he began to fiddle with the fringe on the perimeter of the blanket, the possibility of semen stains more of a wisecrack than an actual fear. Clyde overcame the urge to say, “Yeah, but it would be yours.” Instead, he sat quietly, listening to Craig exhale smoke and vapor into the cold air.

“You know I don't smoke a lot, right?” Craig said, almost as if he cared what Clyde thought about him. He really did. “I just do it as a stress reliever type of thing. Haven't had a cigarette in weeks.”

Clyde's mouth tightened. “Why are you stressed?”

Craig tapped some ashes onto the asphalt by his feet. “Friends, family, college applications, the fact that I just lost my virginity in the back seat of a car to the captain of the football team.”

Clyde smiled. “Sorry about that.”

“I kind of figured it would happen like this,” he replied after a long drag. “Kind of wanted it too, I guess.”

“You're okay?”

“Yeah,” Craig answered, looking up to the sky. Clyde couldn't help but notice how lovely his profile looked in a blue glow of night, the thin cigarette tucked between his slightly-swollen lips. “Fucking in cars only happens in movies and pornos. I can say I've done it, at least.”

Clyde couldn't but feel dismayed by his tone. Sure, Craig had a dry disposition, but he was admittedly stressed about what had just transpired between them. He was afraid he had pressured Craig into something he didn't want to do. “But...you're happy too? That we did it?”

Craig finished his cigarette and crushed it into the ground with the toe of his shoe. “Don't get all bashful now. I'm still here, aren't I?”

“As long as you're happ—”

“Donovan, let me spell this out for you,” Craig began, glancing over his shoulder at Clyde who was looking more deflated by the second. “You're reputation in the sack is well deserved and I wanted this. And...I'm glad my first time was...with you. Fucker.”

With that, Clyde's fears dissipated and he wrapped an arm around Craig, hand settling on his shoulder. Stroking his fingers along the knitted fabric of the blanket, Clyde smiled widely, and for the first time in a long time, Craig did too. A genuine, warm smile that felt foreign on his face yet strangely apropos.

They sat like that for a long time, in silence, until Craig removed the carton of cigarettes from his pocket once more. This time, however, he passed it to Clyde who responded with a raised brow.

“Keep it, get rid of it, I don't care,” Craig said nonchalantly. “Whatever you do with it, I don't need them anymore.”

Clyde nodded, then leaned over to drop the box in front of one of the tires. “I'm glad to hear that.” He leaned over and kissed Craig right on the highest point of his cheekbone. Craig may have even grabbed Clyde's hand, though he would sooner admit to getting fucked in the ass than initiating a romantic gesture. Still, it was progress.

Twenty minutes later they returned to the Saab and quickly fell asleep, pressed impossibly close under the blanket in the backseat, Craig nestled beneath Clyde's chin.

A lot had changed since elementary school—besides the obvious. Tweek had moved to Portland the summer after fifth grade, Craig drifted apart from the rest of the Gang during middle school and picked up smoking from Michael, Pete, and Henrietta in eighth grade. By freshman year, he was no longer the tallest kid at school. Though orthodontia had saved him from permanent ostracization, he withdrew on his own. Bred from isolation, Craig's mild apathy about the world had bubbled into a bitter hatred. He had learned to loathe Clyde and Token from afar because they were still friends, because they were popular, because they were happy. When Clyde's parents divorced, he turned to sports more than ever, and no doubt enjoyed the fruits of that physical labor. His shoulder's broadened with age, childhood pudge shaping itself into hard muscles, everything falling into place as he neared six feet, six feet two inches, six foot three. He had dated Bebe on and off for years, was her date to every school party, her first, his first. Spurred by his academic father, Clyde improved his grades and secured a sports scholarship to DU for the fall. He was impossibly happy with himself, for both superficial and thoughtful reasons.

The cliché was true. The more things changed in South Park, the more they stayed the same. Craig hated, Clyde loved. Polar opposites, black and white, heads and tails. Diametrically opposed yet magnetically drawn toward the other. Both parallel and perpendicular. On a crash course to meet again.

It was still early in the morning when they blinked awake in a wash of golden sun, stomach grumbling as they stirred. Without fuss, they drove to McDonald's for some coffee, breakfast sandwiches, and hash browns, crushing the carton of cigarettes beneath the wheel and speeding out of the empty parking lot. Afterward, they went to Stark's Pond, the elementary school, and all of their old hang-out spots. They shared a slice of cheesecake at Bennigan's just short of noon.

Though they knew better, it was almost as if nothing had changed after all, except that Craig never smiled as much in his life as he did that morning.


End file.
